


Mornings

by Squintern



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:31:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5347583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squintern/pseuds/Squintern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter has always had a problem with mornings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> In my ongoing effort to motivate myself to transfer all my work from Fanfiction over here, I give you a slightly older work from my very short archive of Hemlock Grove fics.

Peter has always had a problem with mornings. Once a month, his morning consists of stumbling home from some random location, sore and naked and fucking tired. Every other bad morning he just puts down to the sun rising way too early and coffee coming way too late. Some mornings, he’s carrying boxes before he’s even fully awake. When they’re ready to move, they always leave in the morning (“Less traffic,” Lynda always says. “Less strange looks” is what she means). So, yeah, he’s not too fond of mornings.

School mornings are especially bad. Lynda insists he has to have a full education at least through high school, but they don’t really stay in one place long enough for the other students to really get used to him. So when he has to get up for school, it just makes everything so much worse. Mornings at school mean a lot of strange looks and slurs; they mean all the non-morning people are at their grumpiest and take it out on the ‘gypsy fuck’. Tack on the fact that he’s not exactly at his happiest and school mornings become a shit storm.

He didn’t expect it to be much different in Hemlock Grove and for a while he was right. But then Roman Fucking Godfrey (Peter would swear on his life that was Roman’s given name) decided that Peter was interesting. He didn’t care about whatever the little Wendall girl said, he’d heard worse. Besides, no one actually believed he was a werewolf. Such things didn’t exist in their world. But he did care about Roman Fucking Godfrey. And he really, really didn’t want to care about Roman Fucking Godfrey.

So, mornings in Hemlock Grove just got worse than any other morning. Roman would watch him, not with the usual feigned disinterest or disgust of the others, but with an intense look in his eye like he could see right through Peter. And it made him feel damn uncomfortable. Those eyes sent shivers down his spine, and not just because he knew the creature lurking behind them. Roman Godfrey was too intense. And he wasn’t afraid to display his interest in Peter like the Wendall girl was. It was like he wanted to travel in the circle Peter lived in, to get a taste of what it was like to be looked at with a different kind of disgust than he was used to. Historically, Peter wasn’t overly appreciative of other people being in his circle.

So color him fucking shocked when Roman Fucking Godfrey became the reason he started to like mornings. It started on one of those foul after-full-moon mornings. Lynda had left the blanket out for him like she always did and he stumbled into the trailer expecting a heaping plate of breakfast foods and about ten cups of coffee. Instead, there was Roman Fucking Godfrey sprawled comically on his couch asleep. He found he didn’t mind the sight as much as he should have. The feeling of contentment he had upon seeing Roman asleep waiting for him was fleeting and he pretty much forgot about it as Roman opened his eyes. But something lingered.

And mornings started to get better. Mornings meant he would see Roman again. He ignored for a long time the smile that threatened when he saw Roman walking toward him. He got extra good at pretending it didn’t matter when Roman would share a smoke with him. Lynda noticed, of course Lynda noticed, and she would do her part to make his mornings better (she’s always been a morning person and wished Peter would be one with her, even though she understands why mornings may not be his favorite time of day). It was always a “How’s Roman doing?” or “What are you boys up to?” that would trigger that feeling of contentment that bordered on happiness in the mornings. And, eventually, he came to like his mornings (still, of course, discounting the morning after a full moon).

 

Roman has always had a problem with mornings. It’s simple, really. He likes to sleep late. The sun likes to rise early. Therefore, he and the sun are never really in agreement. That’s really all there is to it.

School adds a whole other layer of discontent. First, there’s the waking up (which, as had already been stated, doesn’t usually go well). Then, it’s an issue of actually putting on acceptable clothing and getting himself presentable to leave the house (they may be loaded, but his fucking mother still won’t agree to getting him a servant specifically to do everything for him in the mornings). And finally, the hell hole itself. If he’d made more of an effort to stay in the private schools she’d tried to send him to, he wouldn’t have to mix with the commoners, but there was a reason he refused to stay in private school; it’s the same reason his school mornings are such hell.

He doesn’t give a flying fuck how the kids look at him, they’re all below him anyway and when he’s eighteen he’ll have more money than they could ever dream of making in ten lifetimes. He cares, though, about how they look at his sister. Shelley has never deserved their treatment. She is the single gentlest, kindest, most loving person Roman has ever (probably will ever) meet. But the shitfaces can’t get past her appearance long enough to get to know her. That’s really why mornings are so bad at school. He’s already pissed at being woken and shoved out the door, then the fucks have the gall to mock his little sister when she never did anything to anyone. Sometimes he thinks about killing them.

His senior year, then, he was both dreading and rejoicing. Dreading leaving Shelley behind at the mercy of her classmates, but rejoicing in reaching a point in his life where he wouldn’t have to rise earlier than noon if he didn’t want to. It all seemed pretty straight forward until Peter Fucking Rumancek (he didn’t actually know if Peter had a middle name, but if he did, he’d be willing to bet “Fucking” was it) rolled into town. He didn’t know why it felt like Peter was important. He’d stare at him for several minutes, trying to figure out what was so goddamned special about the kid. He didn’t look away when Peter met his eye. To say then that his mornings were bad would just make it one of those special days that ended in ‘y’. But they might have started to get better.

Not right away, of course. There was the little mess they’d gotten themselves in to. Those mornings he wished he could just be comatose forever so he could escape whatever was hunting him down. But it was always Peter Fucking Rumancek that pushed him into a standing position. He wouldn’t say that his mornings were good, but they’d improved with Peter’s arrival.

Getting up in the morning meant getting to see Peter. That was good. Against all odds, he’d come to like Peter and, strangely enough, Peter appeared to like him just fine. Mornings meant sharing a quick cigarette before going to class. They meant watching him smile at Shelley because he was the only person who saw past appearances without needing to try. Sometimes, mornings even meant seeing Peter smile at him. So, even though the sun insisted on rising several hours before he believed was appropriate, his mornings got better.

Like now, for instance.

The side of the bed that Peter had most definitely fallen asleep on last night is steadily growing cooler. But just as steadily, the smell of bacon and eggs is wafting through the cramped apartment. Not caring about clothes (the luxury of not having parents around) Roman rolls to his feet to follow his nose. Indeed, Peter is standing at the stove, heaping a plate with enough food to feed an army. Roman would be jealous of how little weight Peter seems to gain, but he won’t gain weight ever again.

Peter turns. Roman, clearly having decided that clothing would be far too much work, is leaning against the doorframe to the tiny kitchen looking just as ridiculous as he had on the couch of the trailer years earlier. He smiles and sits down to eat his breakfast. He’s never been talkative and he almost never has anything to say in the mornings. His smile says enough, he thinks, and maybe after all this time, Roman is coming to understand that. He walks into the kitchen and falls into the chair across from him.

“You left me in bed to get cold,” he accuses. Peter shrugs. He gets this almost every morning.

“You stole all the blankets,” he shoots back around a mouthful of bacon. Roman tries to keep his face hard, but he can’t help but smile at Peter Fucking Rumancek. Peter snorts at the grin and tries to keep his own smile off his face.

“We could just sleep at my place where there’s a heating vent in every corner of the room,” Roman offers. Peter shrugs.

“You’re the one who shows up on my doorstep every day,” he points out. He rises to get a glass, but then decides against it and pulls out the orange juice to drink straight from the carton.

“You don’t even make me breakfast,” Roman continues. Peter wipes his mouth with his arm and raises an eyebrow.

“Whenever I do you complain that it’s cold,” he points out. Roman smirks.

“Make it later.”

“Make it yourself.” They laugh and fall silent.

They don’t need words at this point. This is how their mornings go. They’re both pretty fucking content with it, too. And as Roman Fucking Godfrey drags him back to bed, Peter wonders if Roman is exaggerating when he talks about how much he hates mornings. He seems pretty damn happy with them now.


End file.
